The Second Strangest Bathroom He'd Ever Visit
by fuckingbrianaman
Summary: Harry Potter is about as cut out for parties as Voldemort was cut out for nose modeling. Malfoy is drugging people, the kids are running rampant, and when did Harry get a dance floor? And what is his son doing with Scorpius in the bathroom? :: Basically crack. Lots and lots of crack. See: 'Remus Lupin: After Death' for a bit of context.


The Second Strangest Bathroom He'd Ever Visit

Harry Potter just wasn't cut out for Christmas parties. Sure, he once could work it at a Weasley gathering, or flaunt his social stuff at a celebratory Quidditch House bash, but that had been back in the day, and (_Let's face it_.) he most definitely wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. This wasn't Fred and George sneaking Butterbeer into the dorm and Hermione fretting about noise levels. This was a family dinner gone horribly wrong. What had started out as a simple gathering of an – admittedly large – group of related people had somehow exploded into a full on rave, to use the Muggle term. Harry was certain his living room hadn't always been this large, but it was hard to tell for sure with all of gyrating bodies and the strobe light. (_Where did _that_ come from?_) To Harry, it looked as if some people were actually attempting to copulate on his sofa.

He wasn't sure when Malfoy had shown up, but he really needed to find him, seeing as he was the one who had given him the drink that made the room spin after just one sip. Harry didn't know if he was going to punch Malfoy in the face, or vomit on his shoes, but either way he'd have revenge. His bloody kids were here, after all, and getting their father drunk was no way to behave like a good role model. Not that Harry actually knew where James, Albus and Lily were, but that was beside the point.

A familiar head of bushy brown hair grabbed his attention, and _Merlin_ was he thankful. "Hermmoninie!" he shouted over the din of the party. "'Mione! Minnie! Harmonica!"

She finally turned his direction, searching the crowd to find who had called a garbled version of her name. Harry waved at her sloppily, and she pushed her way to him.

"Need poe – potion fur s-s-s-s… Alcohul… Malf gave –"

"Harry! You're drunk!"

"Thanksss, Herm, I h – had n – no idea," said Harry, trying for sarcasm. The effect was ruined by his outlandish slur, however, and Hermione didn't seem able to hear him over the thrumming bass.

"I am, quite honestly, ashamed of you. This is _Christmas_, not New Years. And really, who invited all these people? Wasn't this supposed to just be family? Why didn't anyone tell me everyone in our year and their children were coming?"

Hermione's words didn't make much sense to Harry, but he caught the tone of her voice, and knew he was in trouble.

"Draco gabe me sumfink… Sumfink blue and glutt'ry –"

"Merlin, if you needed and anti-alcohol potion, why didn't you say so? Follow me."

She took his wrist and dragged him through the enormous throng of people. Harry followed her dutifully and tried not to vomit. The rapidly flashing black light wasn't helping any.

They ended up in the kitchen, which was loud, but not _as_ loud, and filled with people, but not _as_ filled with people. "Stay here," said Hermione. She let go of his wrist and he swayed dangerously, but she took no notice, so Harry collapsed into the nearest chair and let his head fall between his knees.

"Bloody 'ell," he said. "Don' let Ginny s – see me like –" He cut off to try to hold back a wave of nausea. Everything would be so much easier if the room would stop spinning. Harry wished he could articulate properly, but he had forgotten what he had been trying to say, so it didn't matter anyway.

"Here," said Hermione. "Drink this." Harry felt a tugging on the back of his shirt, so he sat up. Hermione pressed a small vial into his hands. It was mercifully uncorked, so he downed it in one go, ignoring the way the room tilted as he threw his head back.

"Er," said Hermione. "You might want to –"

But Harry didn't wait around to hear the rest. Shooting out of his chair like a bullet, he stumbled to the sink and emptied his stomach violently.

Someone turned on the water, and Harry moved his head under the flow. It felt soothing.

"It clears your system of the alcohol by forcing it out of your body. I'm so sorry, Harry! I should've told you, but I knew it wouldn't make any sense, not with you being so drunk, and it's the most effective sobering potion you have, so I thought –"

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Please shut up."

* * *

Ginny was pushing her way through the crowd. Harry could see her, but only just barely, as she wasn't making much headway at all. Harry thought about calling to her, but decided against it, as he was sure she wouldn't be able to hear him over the sound of his head throbbing.

Malfoy was on the other side of the room, the bastard. Harry still didn't know what he had drank, but even with the potion, it had a nasty after effect, and Draco was going to pay.

Harry could just barely make out Albus and Scorpius on the dance floor (_When the hell did we get a bloody _dance _floor?_), moving lithely to the horrible thumping music that was coming from nowhere. He was sure the lights were playing tricks on his eyes, though, as it almost looked as if the two boys were dancing _together._

Lily was in the corner of the room, heartily snogging her fiancé, Lysander. Harry inwardly grimaced, wishing his daughter had more decorum, and that Lysander handled his alcohol better.

He didn't even want to think about where James and Eloise had gone off to.

He decided to make his way to Malfoy, as it was the only trip that would make him feel better.

Draco saw him coming, and grinned at him cheekily. "Learned not to take drinks from former enemies, yet?" he called over the bass.

"Shut your slimy mouth, you tosser," said Harry loudly. "My kids are here, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't make this horrid situation any worse than it already is."

"Oh, ho ho! Looks like The Chosen One's got his knickers in a knot! Ha, ha, ha!"

Malfoy's cheeks were flushed, and his hair was unusually askew. "Are you…" Harry began. "Are you drunk?"

"Mildly tipsy, Wonder Boy," corrected Draco, shaking his finger at Harry as if he were scolding a small child. "Only mildly tipsy." Then he threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Harry tossed his hands in the air in defeat, and, while Malfoy wasn't paying attention, made his leave.

Harry shoved aside inebriated bodies, fighting to make his way back to the kitchen, where he remembered it being much quieter and emptier. Some of the people he recognized as friends, some he merely knew by face. There was Neville, singing a song about a mermaid with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Blaise Zambini, who sloshed Firewhiskey all down the blouse of a brunette girl Harry knew to be an ex-Ravenclaw. Cormac McLaggen and Katie Bell. Luna. Cho Chang. Boys, girls. Men, women. Faceless humans who stumbled into him, breathing his air.

Harry really wasn't cut out for parties.

Finally, he made it past the threshold of the kitchen, quickly collapsing against the counter. After the sweaty heat of the living room, the cool tile felt wonderful against his face. "How the fuck did I get into this mess?" he wondered aloud.

"Pure, unadulterated talent," said a familiar voice behind him.

"Thanks, Gin," said Harry sarcastically. "Way to help."

She laughed and set an unopened bottle of water dangerously close to his nose. "You've got to admit, this brings back memories."

"I don't have to admit anything."

"Yes you do."

"And why is that, pray tell?"

Because," said Ginny, "George talked Angelina into dancing on the bar. Again."

Harry groaned. "We don't have a bar."

* * *

Harry couldn't find Albus.

He'd managed to wrangle up James (Who refused to be separated from Eloise, shouting that she was his "pretty masseuse." Harry didn't want to think about that one.), Lily (Who was so pissed that she called him "mum" about three times.), and all of his various nieces and nephews and lock them all in the guest room. (Hugo had commented that it smelled like sex in there. Harry had been glad Hermione hadn't been around to hear that.) But still there was no trace of his youngest son, or even Scorpius, for that matter.

"Have you seen Albus?" Harry asked Ron when they bumped into each other.

"Have you seen Rosie and Hugo?" returned Ron.

"Yeah, I locked them in a room upstairs. Have you –"

"Why'd you do that?"

"So I could get them out of the way. Have you –"

"That's silly," said Ron, and he turned and slipped back into the crowd.

"Ron!" Harry called after him, but he could barely be heard by his own ears, much less someone else's. He groaned in annoyance. "Stupid git."

A voice came from behind him. "Did somebody say, 'Draco Malfoy'?" Harry turned.

"Close enough," he snapped back. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco's mouth fell open in sarcastic shock. "I am simply trying to make small talk, Potter! After all, this _is_ a party."

"Sod off, will you? I'm looking for my son." Harry turned to leave, but was stopped.

"Well, what if I happen to know where he may be?"

"Then please," said Harry, facing Malfoy again. "Fill me in."

"Ooo, even used your manners that time, didn't you? Fine. I saw him and Scorpius run off that way, giggling." Draco gestured towards one of the hallways. "I assumed they were going to do something that would make that vein in your forehead pop out, so I didn't stop them. I hope they get that whipped cream on your carpet."

Harry simply blinked at him as Malfoy left. _What the bloody hell are they going to do with whipped cream? _Whatever it was, Harry had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. After all, Albus had been spending an alarming amount of time with Teddy as of late…

Images of hexed desserts and booby traps flooding his mind's eye, Harry quickly shoved his way past the multitude of people between him and the master bedroom, which was the only significant room on the hallway at which Malfoy had motioned. He burst in, but there was no one to be seen. The vibrations from the music were mostly muffled, and the crowd hadn't invaded this room, possibly out of respect, possibly out of ignorance.

"Albus!" called Harry.

A gasp came from his right, and, spinning, Harry saw that the door to the bathroom was shut, and there was light spilling out from under the crack. He stepped forward carefully, suddenly wary of whatever his son was concocting.

He reached out gingerly and grasped the knob. He turned it gently, making no noise, going slowly in case it was rigged. When nothing happened, he pushed the door inward.

For a split second, Harry froze. Whatever he'd been expecting, this wasn't it.

Albus was sitting on the lidded toilet with a lapful of his (very male) best friend, whom he was snogging enthusiastically. Scorpius had one hand in Harry's son's hair, and the other had disappeared below the waistline of Albus' trousers. The aerosol can of whipped cream lay, forgotten, on their crumpled, discarded shirts.

Harry heard Albus moan.

"Nnggg," he articulated in response.

Albus and Scorpius flew apart faster than Harry could've said "morally reprehensible," and the latter managed to trip and fall into the tub. "Dad!" shouted Albus. "Godric, how long were you – I was going to tell – should've knocked – no one else in this house likes whipped cream – oh, fuck! I'm sorry!"

Scorpius pulled himself back to his feet and stumbled into Albus, knocking them both over. Albus saw his shirt, grabbed it, and pulled it on, sending the aerosol can clattering across the tile. Scorpius was slurring out apologies. Harry's skull pulsed in response. Albus scooped up Scorpius' shirt and thrust it into its owner's arms. "We'll, er, just be going – leaving, er… Sorry, Mr. Potter, I tried to tell him – the basement – no one would've looked in there – could've come out properly –"

Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He massaged his brow with his fingertips.

"Scorpius, please –" said Albus. "Shut up. Just – you're drunk. I'm drunk – but less than you – let me – I'll talk. Dad – Dad, we're just – I mean, not mucking around – only – about a year, now – pretty serious…" When Harry didn't respond, Albus sped up. "I thought – I hoped you'd – but, I mean, if you don't… Dad, are you okay?"

"No," Harry groaned again. "When did we get a basement?"


End file.
